Charlotte’s emerald green eyes widened with a mixture of temper and passion Brett found unbearably exciting. She splayed her hands across his chest as he slowly lowered his lips to hers. She exerted even more force with her hands; he ignored it. “I mean it, Brett Forrest. Don’t even think it!” she warned, her thick dark eyelashes already beginning to close.
“Then I won’t think it,” he said softly. “I’ll do it.”
Her lips were hot and soft, her kiss sensual. He knew she didn’t mean to kiss him back, any more than he could help himself kissing her, and somehow that made the culmination of their desire all the sweeter. Groaning, he deepened the kiss, sweeping her mouth with his tongue, leaving not a millimeter unexplored. He had never felt anything like this in his life. Never wanted any one woman so much, never been possessed so thoroughly and so swiftly. And that was when he knew it had to end, before they both suffered the consequences. With difficulty, Brett lifted his mouth from hers. Charlotte’s mouth was damp and pink. She was gasping for breath as she slowly opened her eyes. To Brett’s further astonishment, she looked dazed and completely besotted. She was still clinging to his neck, looking like she wanted very much for him to start up the kisses again.
It was all Brett could do not to groan again. He wanted more than anything to take her over to her big four-poster bed and lie down with her on it. He couldn’t think of anything sweeter or more exciting. He wanted to feel her against him, without all these damnable layers of petticoats and clothes. He wanted to have her against him, all soft and surrendering.
But it wasn’t going to be today, not with Paige and that seamstress due back in the room at any moment.
“I’d sure like to be the man to bring you to life, sweetheart,” he drawled. To his chagrin, Charlotte looked like she wanted that, too. With all the strength he could muster, Brett released her abruptly and said, “Unfortunately for both of us, I don’t have time for this. I have to mow the lawn.”
“What?” Charlotte sputtered, looking as if she couldn’t believe he had gotten her all fired up and then just let her go!
Brett grinned. It did his heart good to know she was as reluctant to end the steamy embrace as he was. “You should know better than to play with the hired help, Miss Charlotte,” he teased. “But perhaps this will teach you a lesson,” he added with mock seriousness.
Charlotte flew at him with both fists. He caught her wrists before they could connect with his chest. “You are a dead man,” Charlotte said irately, struggling unsuccessfully to free herself. “Do you hear me, Brett Forrest?” she shouted. “A dead man!”
Brett laughed, enjoying more than ever the feel of her in his arms. “You sure are pretty when you’re in a temper, Miss Charlotte,” he drawled. And I sure would like to kiss you again.
From behind them came two soft, feminine ahems.
Face flaming, Charlotte stopped struggling abruptly and turned, as did Brett. Paige stood in the doorway beside a middle-aged woman with a sewing basket. It was obvious from the amused looks on their faces they’d seen just about everything. Brett didn’t mind, but Charlotte sure did.
“Are we interrupting anything?” Paige asked.
He took another look at Charlotte in the old-fashioned chemise and petticoats, her tousled hair and pink cheeks. “Nothing that can’t be continued later,” he promised with a sexy grin.
* * *
“SO HOW IS IT GOING so far?” Franklin asked Brett, long minutes later.
Brett held the phone to his ear as he paced the cottage. He knew he rubbed Charlotte the wrong way, and he was working hard on heightening her feelings of both apprehension and distaste. Adding desire to the mix had confused her even more, and that was good. The more he could distract her from thinking about Sterling, the better. “I don’t think the indefatigable Miss Langston is any closer to finding out who the real Stephen Sterling is yet,” he admitted. “But I also know she’s not about to give up. So maybe a preemptive strike is in order.”
Franklin chuckled. Brett could be very creative when it came to taking care of business. “Got anything specific in mind?”
“Aside from spying on her every chance I get?” Brett drawled, tongue-in-cheek.
“Yes.”
Brett frowned and tried not to think how pretty Charlotte had looked in the old-fashioned ladies’ underwear. He had come here to do a job and couldn’t leave until it had been accomplished. In the meantime, he would have a little fun with Miss Charlotte. “Maybe it’s time we set up a wild-goose chase for her,” Brett suggested finally. Something that would really get her going…in the wrong direction, of course.
“Sounds good,” Franklin said. “And in the meantime?”
“I’ll stay one step ahead of and behind her,” Brett promised.
“Won’t Miss Langston get suspicious if you’re always underfoot?” Franklin asked.
“Not if I sweep her off her feet.” Brett grinned, remembering their last kiss. “Besides, she thinks the nature of my interest in her is largely romantic.”
There was a pause at the other end of the line. “Are you romantically interested in Charlotte Langston?” Franklin asked bluntly.
Brett scoffed at the mere suggestion. “Hell, no. Nosy, spoiled Southern belles are not my type, you know that.”
“Mmm. Well, you just watch yourself, Brett. And remember who is investigating whom here. There’s a lot at stake and not just for Stephen Sterling.”
Brett didn’t have to be reminded of that. His future was riding on this, too. He smiled grimly. “Don’t worry, Franklin. I’ve got everything well under control. No matter how much it irritates her to have me around, Miss Charlotte Langston won’t make a move without me knowing about it.”
This was no time to be getting an attack of conscience, Charlotte told herself firmly as she dialed the warehouse number for Stephen Sterling’s publisher. She had every right as a member of the press corps to investigate him. Furthermore, she was only doing what someone else would eventually do, anyway. Therefore, she might as well be the one to get the credit for discovering who Stephen Sterling really was, and why he was so hell-bent on hiding from the world.
Her mind made up to see this assignment through to the end, Charlotte finished punching in the long-distance number.
“Author sales,” a chirpy voice on the other end of the line said.
Charlotte hated this part of her job, but it was necessary to be a little dishonest. So she crossed her fingers and began the ruse she hoped would lead her directly to Sterling. “This is Stephen Sterling’s private secretary. I’m calling because he has not received his author copies of the book that was published last month.”
“Those copies were shipped over two months ago,” the shipping clerk said, puzzled.
A guilty flush climbed from Charlotte’s chest to her neck as she pretended confusion. “Are you sure about that?”
